


Psalm 139:  O lord, thou hast searched me, and known me

by MurielJones



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Addiction, Drug Addiction, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurielJones/pseuds/MurielJones
Summary: Spencer is an addict and he is using.The original version of this story was meant to end well, but this one, it doesn't.





	1. Chapter 1

Aaron Hotchner got out of bed. Spencer had come home late, he had spent a few days at an out-of-state convention. He had called Aaron to let him know he was going to a meeting; so when Reid took his time in the bathroom Aaron thought it was just a nice long shower. He thought Reid would be in in a minute, to kiss and cuddle and say hello and goodnight. When Aaron woke at two a.m. and Reid still wasn't there he got up.

"I made a mistake." Reid was laying in his own vomit on the bathroom floor. The words were choked out. There were tear stains on his face. "Aaron please help me."

Aaron bent down and took Spencer's wrist in his hand, feeling with his fingers for the pulse. "You'll be ok, take care of yourself." It wasn't harsh though. Aaron stood up again and began to walk out.

"Aaron I didn't intend to, it was an accident."

"Spencer, I, will, not, help, you."

"Aaron." Spencer dry heaved.

"What did you take?"

Spencer was silent. He tried to warm himself by wrapping a damp towel around his body.

"Where did you get it?"

"I keep some, it helps me stop."

Aaron stood up. "You kept drugs in this house with our son? Get out." Aaron didn't yell it, he just said it.

Spencer tried to look up. "I kept them in my bag."

"Get out." Aaron was just starting to cry.

"I'll kill myself."

"I'm calling 911."

"Please." Spencer curled in on himself, trying to clean himself with his wet towel, where he had soiled himself "Don't. I don't need to go to re-hab."

"I'm calling 911."

Spencer struggled to his feet, grabbed onto the sink and slammed a fist into the mirror.

"Spencer, I'm going to give you a choice. You can leave this house and never come back again. I can take you to the hospital, or we can call 911; but you cannot use drugs in the house were our son lives. You will not use drugs and hurt yourself in the house where our son lives."

Spencer took a shard of the broken glass and cut into his arm, deep, deep enough to see the off white bone. He pushed the shard in hard, the broke it off.

Aaron pressed his lips together. Tears were running down his face. He never looked away from Spencer, meeting one another's gaze in the shattered mirror. Aaron, his hand forced, reached to hold Spencer's arm above the gash.

He reached for Spencer's cell phone, left on the sink. "I'm calling 911."

"Please, I won't have a job if you do, if anyone finds out."

"Spencer, you already don't have a job."

Aaron had turned Spencer to hold him close to his chest as best he could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer is, unsurprisingly, in rehab.

I wrote a letter to my love and on the way I dropped it. 

I dropped it once, I dropped it twice, I dropped it three times over.

It wasn't you, it wasn't you, it wasn't you,

It was you.

 

Aaron picked up the piece of paper and crunched it up in his fist. He couldn't very well throw it, but he wanted to. There was no one to blame but Spencer. He couldn't lay blame for this at Hankle's feet, or at Diana Reid's doorstep, or put it off on the bullies of Spencer's childhood, the everyday deamon's of their work, this was Spencer's. Aaron waited in the muted colours of the reception area. When did hospitals start having reception areas? The TV was nicer than what they had at home, but cable couldn't hold his attention or the attention of the various souls scattered around. The only thing he had in common with these people was they all had medical insurance. Aaron wondered what would happen to Reid without insurance. He hand't actually fired him yet, but he didn't really have a choice. Reid had had a choice, and he had done this.

He had thrown Spencer out of the house; effectively leaving the man he loved homeless. A homeless unemployed addict. Spencer had some money, but without support that would probably go to his drug habit, or his book habit. Aaron laugh briefly to himself, then looked down embarrassed, and played with the piece of paper in his hands.

He looked up hopefully at a passing nurse. What would take so long about admitting Spencer? He knew he was sitting in the psyche wing. "Please follow the orderly sir," it wasn't like they were directing him to the cafeteria. Now he had no choice, if he didn't use his medical power of attorney to admit Spencer then the hospital would use a 72 hour hold, and Spencer would be involuntary committed, and if Spencer was involuntary committed he would never work for the FBI again.

Aaron looked down still playing with the sheet of stray crumpled up paper in his hands, folding and unfolding it, avoiding reading it. After tonight Spencer would never work for the FBI again, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Another nurse walked by, Aaron looked up hopefully again. He closed his eyes for a second, then walked over to the "welcome desk". Spencer would find that funny. "Is dr. Reid being admitted yet?"

"Why is he in surgery?" Aaron had seen the blood, he had been so focused on keeping Spencer under control that the extent of Spencer's injury had not occurred to him. The nerve damage should be minimal, the bone would heal. Spencer had damaged the bone with glass shards.

"Yes, of course, I'll do an interview with the doctor."

Aaron spread the piece of paper out on the desk, and then folded it into squares. Something Spencer would have done. He thought of Spencer's dexterous fingers.

"Now? Its 3 in the morning."

The psychiatrist had not expected to meet an FBI profiler, and was quite out of her depth. Aaron weighed every answer, he Was aware he was acting like Spencer. A weighed answer, given for its result, the truth rustled up in it. 

"He's an addict doctor."

"I don't know what the stressor is."

"Deeply concerned."

"No he won't be returning to live with our family."

Short to the point answer, nothing extra revealed.

"I don't think this is an appropriate time to discuss this."

He hadn't betrayed Spencer.

"Can I see him now?"

"He's still asleep?"

Allowed three minutes with a sleeping Spencer Aaron held his hand, touched the layers of gauze wrapping and kissed Spencer's forehead.

The orderly was waiting at the door. Aaron prayed that the last time he saw this man wouldn't be in the damn pastel green hospital room with pink curtains and the art equivalent of muzak on the walls.

 

"Don't die." Aaron muttered on his way out, at least not for right now, right now Spencer was safe.

Aaron looked at the piece of paper he held in his hands:  
You have searched me, lord,  
and you know me; You know when I sit and when I rise;  
you perceive my thoughts from afar.

Aaron threw it in the trash.

Later that day Aaron let himself into Director Straus' office he didn't bother knocking he didn't bother greeting her he just laid Spencer's personnel file on her desk. He pulled up a chair and sat down.

"I have included a letter of reprimand in Dr. Reid's file. Also in there is a record of his emergency admission to Quantico Mental Health Center. I have also included a letter to yourself suggesting the Dr. Reid's employment be terminated, I have signed and included all the relevant paperwork.

Aaron had stayed up the rest of the preceding night, filling out forms, his lips tight, his eyebrows forced together, haggard lines making his face. His hand shook when he wrote what had happened, what Spencer had done, it hadn't just happened, Spencer had done it. He wrote the letter out longhand, closed his eyes as he signed the letter recommending Spencer's termination. And it really did feel like a termination of more than employment.

Director Strauss placed her hand over Aaron's as he pushed the files across her desk.

"Has he talked to his sponsor?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Spencer has some realizations and takes some decisions.

Oranges and lemons, Bells of St. Clements  
When you going to pay me? Tomorrow or the next day?...  
Here come the chopper to chop of your head.

 

Spencer sat on the edge of the bed; bare feet on the floor; toes played with the texture of the rug. His mouth twitched. He covered his face with his hands. He drew a breath, slow and steady, exhaled shakily. His hair fell across his eyes. He pushed it back wishing he had kept it cut short. He knew he had been crying, his eyes were dry, his throat burned, he tasted chemicals in his mouth, his left arm hurt, his right hand hurt, he felt sick and looked away from the wrapped limb, opening and closing his stitched right hand. He wished that he had been far enough gone, that he couldn't re-live every damned excruciating detail.

Spencer would have called Aaron, but Aaron was done with him.

Spencer looked to the door, closed, with no lock. The wall paper was hideous. "One of us has to go,.." he muttered. The under floor heating was comforting. Clearly this was the psyche ward. Spencer prayed that Aaron had admitted him, that this wasn't a hold; or his career would be done, it was done. He held onto his injured arm, tightening his hand, and flinching. He looked up for a camera. Someone would check on him.

The door opened. Spencer paused before he turned to face the nurse. He knew he looked like hell. He had circles under his eyes at the best of times, and this wasn't the best of times; he knew he would be white from pain; Aaron had remember to tell them about the opiates. No, Aaron wouldn't have had to tell them, that was what he was doing here. That and attempted suicide. Spencer wished he could explain. He smiled hopefully at the woman.

Spencer's smile wasn't sure.

Of course, he would fill out the questionnaire immediately.

Yes, he would see the psychiatrist.

Yes, he would attend a group session.

Do everything they wanted, anything they wanted, exactly like they wanted. He was looking forward to the questionnaire.

No, he had no intention of attending family therapy; his only family was his institutionalized mother in Las Vegas. He looked away.

No, he really just wanted to get started right away, he didn't want to call anyone. He could? He would just need to let the nurse on duty know. OH, he didn't have his phone? He could use the phone in the hall. Yes, he could discharge himself. No, it wasn't guaranteed that he would be immediately detained.

Spencer chewed on his bottom lip. He would do exactly what was asked of him.

"You want me to talk to Aaron Hotchner?" Spencer was unable to control the pitch of his voice. He covered his eyes with his injured hand, then brought it back down to hold his hurt arm, then let go and set each hand on a knee.

"He's outside?" 

"Ok." He really didn't mean ok, he meant 'if that is what I need to do to get the hell out of here.'

 

Spencer looked down at his hands as Aaron came in.

Aaron was so relieved to see Spencer sitting up, and, well, ok. He was just relieved to see Spencer, that Spencer had agreed to see him. Aaron wasn't fooling himself; he knew that Spencer was doing whatever was required of him to get out of here after the obligatory observation and counseling. If he had to talk to Aaron, so be it.

"I'm sorry." Spencer muttered to his hands.

Aaron walked up behind him, nearly placing a hand on Spencer's shoulder, then changing his mind and his course. "Spencer?"

"I'm sorry." Spencer was angry enough at Aaron that his display of calm nearly slipped.

Spencer, sitting alone again, ran the conversation and confrontation through his head. Yes, how had he thought it was safe to keep pills in his bag. Why did Aaron care if it was pills. Actually it was easier to get the through the airport. They made him sick. Why had he said that? Not often. Not often. This time it was a mistake. More than Aaron knew. Never at home. Yes, he was, in fact, always travelling to lecture or to listen. At this point he had found himself taking deep breaths. Yes, he was telling the truth. Yes, addicts lied. Yes he was an addict; and no, he didn't think that saying that over and over again really helped. Since Aaron put it that way, no, he had no intention of stopping.

Aaron had looked so shocked.

Then there was a look of cold anger on Aaron's face, that had never been directed at him before. Aaron had stood up, and had placed a hand on each of Spencer's shoulders. "I loved you Spencer." And he had stood there staring at Spencer with those black eyes hard. 

Spencer looked down at his hands again. Aaron had loved him. 

His head hurt, badly. He stood up, and closed his door, and the damn curtains. He took his glasses off and covered his face with his hands, closing his fists against his checks, turning his hands against his face, letting the pain take over, over and over again "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," over and over and the recitation he wished he could forget. 

Psalm 39, vs 11-12: Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me, even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

**Author's Note:**

> written 2012, I was a different person then, but I still like this.


End file.
